The Painting of the Mind
by Mujitsu
Summary: Soubi creates a masterpiece...that he hates. Rated T for safety. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: I do not own Loveless or any of the according characters.

(A/N: I don't usually write Loveless fics…in fact I only have one other out there, but since it was such a hit, people have been asking me to write more fics for this fandom. Usually, my forte is Inuyasha fanfictions, but I decided to make another exception. Please enjoy this one-shot, and please review after if you please. And also, remember again that this is only the second fic I have for this anime, so forgive any inconsistencies.)

Now edited

The Painting of the Mind

The quietness of the room did nothing to disturb both occupants, as both were involved in their own activities. A young man, still outfitted with his ears and a tail, sat on a bed, trying to finish a homework assignment. Another young man, although older than the first, set up his paints in the far corner of the room.

Soubi was about to begin painting, and as he looked at the blank canvas, he pursed his lips thoughtfully. His teacher had given this assignment a few days ago, and Soubi didn't really know how to go about completing it.

"_Just draw what is in your mind. Don't think about anything…just let your heart control the movement of your hands and your soul pick the colors…"_

Not an easy assignment to be sure, but he was determined…and admittedly curious as to what he would create. He picked up his paintbrush and cleared his mind. His hand created strong stokes across the board, adding little dashes here and there. Soubi was transported to another place, another world as he became absorbed in his work. He worked without haste, although his hands never faltered. He mixed colors quickly and without second thought before he picked up his brush again. For an hour, he worked steadily, not really looking with a critical eye at his painting. This was his soul working, and before he knew it, he made one last stroke and realized he was finished.

He rolled his shoulders to get rid of the tension that had built and finally looked critically at what he had created. And his eyes widened.

A dark figure stood silhouetted by the moonlight in a meadow, tall grass swaying gently in an imagined breeze. Butterflies danced around the space like it was their own personal ballroom, images of beauty in a quiet setting. But they were not the ones to be focused on. Instead, the object of interest was the solitary person, small of stature, ears and a tail, his face half shadowed by the dark, but Soubi knew who it was.

Ritsuka.

The painting was a masterpiece, one of Soubi's best works, he knew, but he frowned as his gaze lingered on what he had created. There was something off about Ritsuka, something disturbing.

The boy in the painting was surrounded by exquisite beauty, yet he looked so sad. Deafeated. Alone. Like he knew he was destined to forever stand in the darkness with no companionship, no love save the wink of the moon and the fluttering of the butterflies.

Soubi set down his paintbrush carefully as his heart broke a little.

Why did he paint this picture? What possessed him to create this image of heartache that was so potent it seemed his soul cried out just looking at it? His eyes cut across the room to land on the boy who was his entire life, unaware of his perusal, staring off into space with the serious look that Soubi was accustomed to seeing on the young Sacrifice's face. The same look that was in the painting.

And then he realized why he had painted that picture.

Art, in its most raw form, is an expression of the soul. It was the subconscious's way of breaking free and revealing the inner musings of the psyche. And Soubi's psyche painted what Soubi was beginning to suspect secretly.

Ritsuka was destined to be alone.

Soubi had remained by his side the last couple of years as Ritsuka had grown older, but still that same damn look remained on his face. And the hopelessness was still in his eyes, same as the first time Soubi had laid eyes on him. Oh, of course it was occasionally broken by a smile here and there in rare moments of amusement, but it always seemed a bit fake. Forced.

And Soubi, despite his best efforts, was not reaching the boy. He had come close a few times to finally making Ritsuka realize he was loved, that he was perfect just the way he was, but always the same doubts clouded his Sacrifice's eyes and he was lost.

And Soubi was beginning to realize he was not going to win. He was not going to be able to call Ritsuka back from the demons in the boy's heart that told him he was worthless. And if Soubi's subconscious realized that Ritsuka was lost, soon Soubi's brain would realize it, and he would give up.

That thought alone made his heart stop. To be in a life without Ritsuka…without hope…without love…without realization…that would be unbearable.

And suddenly Soubi hated himself…in what he had created…in the fact that he could even THINK of giving up. He was NOT going to give up on Ritsuka…no matter what his damn psyche said.

Ritsuka glanced sharply in Soubi's direction when he heard the crash. He saw Soubi's arm outstretched calmly as the easel fell to the floor, making no move to save it as the other paints and water on the floor splashed onto it, ruining it for life.

"S…Soubi?" he asked, almost timidly. He didn't know what was wrong with the Fighter, but he was wary…he had never seen the look on Soubi's face that he had now.

He watched the fighter pick up a rag and slowly wipe his hands off, not taking his gaze from where he sat across the room, and Ritsuka felt like fidgeting. This was a mood he had never seen Soubi in before. He couldn't even define it, or the strange feeling in his stomach as the rag was set down, and the Fighter began a deliberate journey across the room.

He watched as Soubi knelt down in front of him, unmoving and unblinking.

"Soubi?" he whispered again.

And then his Fighters lips were on his, soft, caressing, like a butterflies wings against the air. A slight flush began on his cheeks as a gentle warmth spread through him at the familiar feeling of gentleness. He knew he shouldn't let the kiss continue, but like all the times before, he couldn't resist just a few more moments of feeling safe. Secure. Loved.

Soubi continued the kiss for a few moments, his eyes slit open as he watched the reaction of his sacrifice. The vulnerability Ritsuka showed in these moments was priceless, and as he felt the boy begin to move away, he decided it was time to change his tactics.

Ritsuka reluctantly began to move away from the drugging feelings of Soubi's lips on his, when he felt Soubi's hand grip the back of his head, and the kiss changed so fast he was left gasping.

Soft lips moved over his forcefully as teeth nipped here and there, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him. The shock of Soubi's tongue against his mouth, and then inside tasting every secret, sent him reeling, and it was all he could do to keep his grip on the older man's shoulders.

The kiss turned slow again…sensual…mock comfort when his heart was racing to beat out of his chest. His hands instinctively tightened on Soubi's shoulders when the Fighter pulled away, sucking on Ritsuka's bottom lip once more before relinquishing contact.

Ritsuka sat there, eyes closed, fighting to gain the breath that had been taken away, his body tingling and burning. He could feel that the breath of Soubi had grown a bit harsher as well, and it set his heart racing faster.

Slowly, he cracked open his eyes and met the unwavering stare of the man who set him on fire. There was a glow in his eyes, a fierce burning that he had never seen before, and it made him shiver.

"Soubi?" he asked again, his voice small. It was the only thing his brain could think to say.

Soubi leaned forward slightly, invading Ritsuka's personal space again and said in a strong, clear voice, "I'm not giving up, Ritsuka. Is that understood?"

"I…Okay?" came the boy's reply, more of a question than a statement, but that's all Soubi needed to hear. He knew Ritsuka had no idea what was going on…he really didn't need to know. As long as he knew Soubi was serious…that was all that mattered. He slowly took the boy into his arms, cradling his head on his shoulder, trying to calm down the pattering of his heart and the racing of his blood…

…and on the floor, the colors of the beautiful masterpiece ran together, becoming blurs of shadows and shapes, becoming more beautiful than it was before for one reason…

The image of loneliness was gone.

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(I hope you enjoyed this one-shot. Remember to review!

Mujitsu)


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